I want to love you like the man I'm supposed to be
by SimpleTune
Summary: What happens when Kurt runs into Blaine at Burt's funeral? (Post TBU reaction fic.)


**Warning: character death.**

I want to love you like the man I'm supposed to be.

It was cool outside, the clouds were gray, and the whole world seemed to be wound up tight, waiting. Wind whipped through the trees and died down. Something rumbled in the distance, but whether it was thunder or an airplane you couldn't tell. It gave Kurt a headache.

Kurt didn't do things by half measures. So this whole nonsense of will-we-have-a-storm-or-won't-we drove him crazy. He felt like a fool carrying around an umbrella when everything was perfectly dry. He gripped it close anyway, willing the tears of frustration not to come.

It didn't take much to set him off these days. He missed a lot. He got angry a lot. He got lonely a lot. He couldn't help feeling like he had lost everything. He felt young…vulnerable…alone. Maybe it was just coming back to Ohio, maybe it was that the water in New York made him feel like a superstar. Maybe it was that there was nothing for him here anymore.

Maybe it was that his dad, who had always wiped his tears before, was dead.

"You can always come back, but you won't," he'd said before Kurt boarded that plane to New York, and he was right. Kurt wouldn't be back in time to see his father. The last interaction Kurt would have with his daddy was putting off answering a voicemail Burt had left last Thursday, when Kurt had said he was going to call but forgot.

"At least it was peaceful," Carole had said on the phone, trying her best to be comforting, but she was a wreck herself. Burt had died next to her in his sleep. The last thing she had said to him was "Take a Tums and we'll see if you're better in the morning," after he complained to her about the heartburn that was really his second heart attack. Carole was a strong woman, but it took all she had not to blame herself, Kurt could tell. She had barely said two words together since Kurt had arrived at home.

"I'm sorry…If you need to talk, you know I'm always…Just give me a call…" Kurt hadn't. He got dozens of voicemails like this, mostly from former glee clubbers, and he deleted every single one. He wasn't going to let anything share a hard drive with his dad's voice. It was out of the question.

"Hey bud, just checking in. I know you're busy and all, but it would be nice to hear your voice. Just give your old dad a call if you're not too cool for him yet." He had paused. "Carole says hi." Another pause. "I know you don't want to talk about it, but have you thought of giving Blaine a call? Seems to me both of you have got some stuff you need to talk out." And then he sighed. He sounded worn down, like he hadn't gotten much sleep. "Love ya, kiddo. It's a little less bright here without you around. Call me back, I'll be here."

Blaine. Blaine was the last thing Kurt wanted to think about, especially now. Especially now that his dad had broken his promise, that he had said he'd be here and he wasn't. Especially now that Kurt had broken his promise, that he had said he'd call every week and he hadn't. So he just ignored that part of the message; wished his brain had a fast forward button so he wouldn't have to listen. He wished life had a rewind button so he could do this over and do it so much better.

If there was one thing Kurt hated, it was having nothing to do. But that was exactly what was happening; he was wandering aimlessly in an old public park forty minutes away from his house – probably the only one in the whole of Lima that he hadn't played in with his dad when he was a kid. His thoughts turned there anyway, reminding Kurt with an imagined blow to the gut how Burt had pushed him on the swing, always letting him go higher when he asked.

After one trip to the park, he had asked Kurt why Kurt always asked to go so high – Kurt was scared of rollercoasters, and even got motion sickness on merry go rounds. Kurt had turned to him and said, "I want to be closer to Mommy. You said she's in heaven, right?" Burt's eyes had filled with tears and he'd ruffled Kurt's hair. Kurt normally didn't like it when he did that, but hugged his dad's thigh tightly, saying, "I didn't mean to make you cry, Daddy, I'm sorry!"

Burt had kneeled down to his level and put a finger under Kurt's chin. "You don't ever need to apologize to me, bud."

"Sorry," Kurt the teenager – no, the adult – whispered into the empty air. The skies darkened. He sat on the swing, kicking his legs back and forth. He felt so small. Looking up at the rolling clouds, he started swinging, pumping, trying to get as high as possible. He worked up a sweat. The rhythm of swinging began to sink into his muscles, soothing the knots of tension there. All the time the clouds, so huge, blew past.

He tried and tried, but he didn't feel like he got to the height he did when his dad was there. The sky seemed even farther out of his grasp, if that were possible. Sarah and Burt may have been watching up there, but it didn't seem like they were paying too much attention. Kurt supposed that was just what he deserved.

Finally, the tears began to fall. He surrendered himself to them. Kurt Hummel didn't do anything by half measures. Not grieving. Not losing everything. He didn't want to be stuck in this back-and-forth anymore. He pitched himself off of the swing, landing in the dirt, where it could be said he belonged. He curled over himself, holding onto his chest, feeling his own body-racking sobs. It started raining.

…

Kurt hated funerals. He sat in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest, not feeling the slightest bit guilty for ignoring all of the guests. He didn't know who they had come out to see, but it wasn't him. They were mostly friends of his dad, people who Kurt had met once or twice, some family, some not. A congressman who knew Burt from his seat on the board made a small stir in another corner when a few people figured out who he was.

Finn was backpacking in Utah without cell service. Tina's family was out of town. Brittany was visiting Santana. It seemed that everyone still left in Lima had some reason or another they couldn't be here. Everyone he wanted to see, anyway. Kurt didn't blame them. He would have given anything not to be here.

The service started and everyone, slowly quieting, trekked outside into the humid gray day. Kurt resisted the urge to trail behind the group like a sullen teenager and walked up front next to Carole. She gave him a shaky smile and squeezed his arm. He took a deep breath and tried to return it.

At the grave, no prayers were said. A few people, the congressman included, spoke about Burt's kindness and big heart and courage. The kind words stung like alcohol on a full-body open wound. _How could you ignore someone so kind and good?_ Their speeches said to him. _How did someone like you come out of him?_

Carole started her speech. She only got as far as "Burt w-was – " before bursting into inconsolable sobs. She tried several times to keep going, but soon she shook her head and let Kurt usher her off the podium. As much as he wanted to stay and comfort her, his speech was next and the show had to go on. He trudged to the front.

"My dad," he said, his hands shaking at his sides, "was my best friend. When the whole world was against me, he was there. And – and sometimes I took that for granted. But he taught me as best he could, always patiently. He taught me how to be a good man – the best person I could be." Kurt had many more things he could have said about his father; he could have gone on for hours, but he figured that this was what his dad would have wanted – short, sweet, and to the point. He stuffed his nervous hands in his pockets before walking away.

Kurt walked back to Carole and took her in his arms, burying his face in her hair. If he had looked, he might have noticed the familiar tear-stained face at the back of the crowd watching him intently.

…

Kurt was still shaking when he and Carole came back inside. Carole sat him down on a bench, squeezed his shoulder, and went to talk to the undertaker. Once she left the room, Kurt burst into tears again, his entire body tensing. He felt like he was being wrung out like a sponge. His whimpers seemed weirdly loud to his own ears in the confined space. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing this nightmare to end.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his back, rubbing in small, gentle circles. Carole's. He was surprised she knew that this was the best way to make him stop crying when he was upset. He wiped his face with haphazard hands and hiccupped his way to normal, if shallow breathing.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a few things. He saw the ugly green carpet. He saw his dress shoes. And he saw a similar pair of dress shoes next to his. He looked up. It wasn't Carole's hand on his back, it was Blaine's. Some guilty part of Kurt's mind flashed to the voicemail, but that triggered a fresh wave of tears, so he took a deep, shaky breath and said exactly what was on his mind.

"Get away from me."

Blaine looked shocked and sad. He had dark circles under his eyes. "Kurt – "

"Why, Blaine? Why are you doing this?" Kurt jerked out of Blaine's reach. "Don't I have enough to deal with?"

"I'm – " But Kurt wasn't hearing it.

"Don't tell me you're sorry. All I've heard for three damn days is 'I'm sorry.' Leave me alone!" Kurt's voice went into a nearly hysterical pitch at the end of the sentence, but he didn't care. He liked the way it made his throat throb.

Blaine sat frozen on the bench, staring at him.

_I still love you._

Blaine wished he could tell Kurt. But one look into Kurt's eyes told him that now was not the time. Maybe it would never be the time. But for now, Kurt had enough to deal with, and Blaine loved him enough to keep his love to himself, even when it hurt.

And did it hurt.

He had cheated. He knew what he did was wrong. He had felt it every step of the way, even before he and Eli actually did anything. Every time a little red notification from Eli popped up, his heart twinged a little. And he went ahead and did it anyway. He knew it was stupid. But Blaine had some nights where he felt so unbearably lonely, and didn't have anyone to talk to about it. He had been in the glee club since last year, but had never really gotten close with anyone his age. And Eli called him cute and sexy and all those things Kurt _didn't_ anymore, and it had gotten kind of carried away. It went from _talking is okay, right?_ to _flirting is okay, right?_ to Eli pressing him up against his bedroom door and _I know this isn't right_. Blaine had rushed out with a mumbled apology, probably hurting Eli's feelings (_Christ, another person I have to apologize to_).

Blaine didn't really care about Eli, not the way he cared about Kurt. Not the way he loved Kurt.

"I'm not going to leave," he said, hastily clearing his throat when his voice came out dry and squeaky.

Kurt sighed frustratedly, not even looking at him. "Why not?"

"Because I'm worried about you."

"You don't need to worry about me." Kurt sounded like he was on the verge of laying into Blaine with all the hurt that words could punch, and Blaine definitely deserved it. "I'm fine."

"Come on. I know you better than that." Kurt visibly flinched at his words.

"Who said I needed a knight in shining armor, huh?" Kurt hissed. "I took care of myself before you came along, and I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself now."

Blaine was quiet for a moment. "I know that. But sometimes…it's easier to let someone else take care of you." Kurt remembered suddenly the only time Blaine had talked to him about what had happened at the Sadie Hawkins dance at his first high school. How he had said, _Afterwards…I had to pick myself up and move on, you know? It was…it was hard, doing it alone._

"Why should I trust you to take care of me? How do I know you won't get bored halfway through and go off to flirt with some other mourning orphan?" Sure, it was a low blow. But Kurt got some sort of sick satisfaction out of watching Blaine's face twist.

"Kurt, I – "

"Don't even try to apologize." Kurt loosened his tie; he was sweating in the damp air and he could feel the red rising on his cheeks. His blood, it seemed, was almost literally boiling. Some detached part of him tried to remember if anger was one of the stages of grief. "Why couldn't you stay and comfort me after you told me you'd been _cheating_ on me? Why are you trying to make me forgive you now? Why would you even fucking cheat in the first place? What didn't I give you?" Kurt's nails dug into the bench. But something tied his stomach in a heavy knot. He knew Blaine wasn't the only one in the wrong. He had screwed up, too. Maybe he'd cheated on Blaine with his job, in a weird way. They'd both made mistakes, they were young.

Blaine's mistake was a hell of a lot worse. But when Kurt looked into that tortured face, he knew that Blaine was genuinely sorry. He thought back to his dad's voicemail. _Both of you have got some stuff you need to talk out…_ "God, I am a terrible person," he sighed, putting his head in his hands. The tears suddenly coming again, he sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "How my dad ever ended up with a son like me I'll never understand."

"How could you even say that?" Blaine whispered, aghast. "Kurt…" He moved in to touch Kurt's shoulder, and this time Kurt didn't jerk away. "You are amazing."

Kurt made a small dissenting noise, hanging his head. Blaine shifted closer to him on the bench, pressing up against him so their sides touched – he could feel the warmth of Kurt's body through his sweater; they were closer than they had been in months, and he couldn't help but feel how much his body had ached for this kind of contact. He rubbed Kurt's back, slowly, listening for his breaths to even out and slow down. "You're amazing," he whispered in Kurt's ear. "You're kind and generous and caring…you're intelligent, you're talented. You're your father's son." Kurt turned to look at him, his blue eyes full of shiny tears and something like hope. Blaine took a deep breath. "You're forgiving…"

The tears spilled over onto Kurt's cheeks. He closed his eyes and his shoulders shook. "I'm so sorry," Blaine said, "For what I did to you."

What could Kurt do? Blaine was right; it was much better to have someone else take care of you. Any wall can come crumbling down under stress, even the high iron fortresses we build to protect ourselves from ourselves.

"Hold me," Kurt breathed, his voice open and cracking. "Please."

So Blaine took him in his arms and let him sob into his shoulder and wrinkle his sweater in his fists. Blaine cautiously pressed a kiss to Kurt's shoulder. Kurt's breathing shuddered.

"I – I think I still love you," Kurt choked out.

"I love you," Blaine said. It was true.

And these words, the words that he had said to Kurt every day for months, calmed him down. It was just a flicker of what his life used to be, when he had a family. When he had someone he wanted to start a family of his own with.

"My dad told me to call you…before he – " Kurt stopped, but Blaine understood. "I think he – he wanted someone in my life. Since he couldn't – since I wasn't always talking to him. And he trusted you."

The words hit Blaine like a punch in the gut. Burt had trusted him the same way Kurt did. He'd betrayed both of them. He had secretly, shyly, loved Burt like a father; he had admired him. But it was too late; that bridge was burned permanently now.

"I'm – "

"No." Kurt stopped him. "Don't tell me you're sorry. Tell me that I'm worth your time. Tell me why you'll never leave me again. Tell me that the ring hidden in the bottom of my desk drawer means something to you." He sighed, too heavily for someone so young. "Because I'm trying to think of reasons to forgive you. I need somebody, and I want it to be you. But please just tell me if I'm setting myself up for heartbreak again."

Blaine wished he could look into Kurt's eyes, wished he could capture his mouth with a kiss guaranteed to wash all of the hurt away. But he had given up that right with his clothes in Eli's bedroom.

"I don't have any excuses," he started, shakily. "Every minute, I wished it was you." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memories of Eli's house and Eli's room and Eli moving too fast. "I never meant to hurt you. That's the last thing I ever wanted to do, Kurt. Ever since I've met you I've treated you like some fragile goddamn thing – but it's not because you're not strong. It's because you're so precious to me." His own eyes were starting to sting, served him right. "I was selfish. I – " He stopped. "I don't know why you should take me back. I just love you, that's all."

The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing.

"You're an idiot," Kurt said. His cheeks and nose were pink.

"I know," Blaine said, meaning it.

"Please, promise me you'll never do that again." Kurt's eyes were grave.

"I promise."

Slowly, surely, Kurt curled up around Blaine, holding him like he had been craving his touch. Blaine was reminded of all of their first steps as a couple, the first heartfelt speeches and the first bite marks, the first soft noises and the first teary fight, the first time. This was more intimate than any of that. It wasn't a first. It was another new beginning; both of them had needed forgiveness many times over through it all. And it wasn't perfect – there was something torn between them that needed stitching, some tension that simply hadn't been there before – but it was still the best that either of them had felt in what felt like forever.

They breathed each other in, holding in this moment, swearing to themselves to never forget. Kurt snuggled in closer to Blaine, rubbing his face in the crook of his neck, and sighed.

"Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"I miss my dad." There they were – those words that Kurt been able to say, the words that he hadn't wanted anyone to hear. The words that made him vulnerable and open, that he just wanted someone to _take_ from him so he could feel a little bit better.

"I know you do. And I'm sorry." This apology was so much better than all of the other apologies, and so much more. "But you've got me." Blaine stammered and hurried into a degrading "I know it's no replacement – "

"It's enough." Kurt hummed into Blaine's sweater. "I think it's why he wanted you around."

"Maybe." Kurt could feel Blaine's smile against his shoulder. A new kind of warmth bloomed in his chest, a sort of excitement, and suddenly he knew he couldn't sit still any longer. He had spent too much time lying curled up in bed too depressed to blow his nose. He sat up.

"Come on," he said, sliding off of the bench. "Let's go."

Blaine said nothing and obediently followed. They slipped out of the building and Kurt drove them to the nearest park.

The sun peeked through the clouds to admire these two boys-to-become-men, who lingered in boyhood just a little while longer to share a kiss on a swing far away from where any more trouble could find them.


End file.
